Her Punching Bag
by xxxSECxxx
Summary: He was her punching bag. Derek/Casey unrequited. One-shot. My first story, ever.


**A/N: So...**

**This is my first story published on here. I always kinda wanted to, but, well, I'm a chicken. Before you read, just letting you know, I realize this is not the greatest story ever. It's too short, choppy, and out of character for Casey and Derek. But bear with me here. I'm only 13, so my writing should improve as I get older. I hope.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own LWD. (Everyone gasps in surprise). Yes, I know. I was shocked too.**

He was her punching bag.

It was something he had accepted a long time ago. Maybe the first time he met her. Because, sure, he was rude to her, but her manners would have stopped her from telling him off. Surely. And yet she spent almost every minute with him telling him every reason she didn't like him. Even he never threw that sort of venom at a complete stranger.

And then he heard that she had to leave her whole life behind for her mother's mid-life romance, and he got it. She was frustrated and angry and confused and scared, and her mother was too soft to bear the brunt of her anger. She must have figured out early that he was the sort of person who could take the insults and stay strong.

He didn't mind much. It was her way of releasing anger. Just like how he made his mind go blank whenever she hit a nerve or his father told him just how _irresponsible_ and _worthless_ he was being.

Of course, being a punching bag had drawbacks. Her blows seemed to glance off; he seemed just the same as he had before the punch. But with every attack he felt himself wear away, just a little. But just a little added up over time. Soon he would become soft, he could tell. Soon she'd need to replace him.

He was pretty sure she wasn't aware of what she was doing. He remembered, after she and Max "took a break" she spent the entire dinner informing him of every flaw and drawback about him. Of course, she made him sound a lot like Max, "inpatient jerk unwilling to understand my needs" sounded pretty familiar, didn't it? But still, he felt himself flinching (on the inside of course, showing weakness was _not_ the Venturi way) with every bitter blow. When they were all in their rooms, he heard a pair of footsteps tread up the stairs and knock gently on her door. He quickly recognized her mothers voice and he crawled to the vent between their rooms. He clearly heard his poor, poor stepmother ask, "Why are you so hard on your stepbrother? I'm not sure just _what _he did this evening to deserve your comments." She got a tirade filled with "it's everything he does Mom! I can't stand him!" and "He ruins my life every day and you think _I'm_ being mean?" But he heard, the unsure tremor in her tone, and she didn't know herself why she had been so harsh. He knew.

Unlike most punching bags, he could hit back. He could deflect blows with sharp tones and all-knowing smirks that seemed to just _get to her_ in a way that no one could. And sometimes, when she'd get a little too mean, where even she had to know that it was a little too much, he'd aim to hurt. It was to keep her in check, to make her remember that he was not going to take it all lying down. That she had to remember that although he was her little punching bag, he was in fact a living being with living flesh and living _f-f-feelings_.

He could destroy her, he knew. No one knew the inner workings of her mind like he did. No one knew the secret insecurities, the fears that made her scream at night. She reacted around him, passionately and uncontrollably, and that scared her more than anything. He figured out pretty quickly that she needed control more than anything, _craved _it. He took it away, and she would always hate him for it.

That was one of the worst things about it. No matter how many times he could tell himself that all the anger was really for someone else, that these were someone else's faults, he knew that she truly did hate him. Sometimes her anger was really for him. Sometimes he really was worthy of the disgust. Sometimes he really was.

Eventually it became harder and harder to figure out whether or not the insults were for him or for someone else. Eventually he stopped trying to figure it out. He accepted all the flaws as his, and he started wearing down faster and faster. The blows _hurt_, godammit, and he was finally showing it.

He wasn't hungry anymore, and hockey wasn't as exciting, and girls weren't as entertaining. Smarti would stare at him with worry in her eyes and ask about the bags under his eyes and he'd promise, pinky swear, to sleep, but _how the fuck_ was he supposed to sleep with her _fucking voice_ echoing in his head? With her _fucking face_, twisted in disgust, there _every time he closed his eyes? _

And she just kept hitting and hitting, because she had Truman, and although she _loved_ him, he was _just like him_, and therefore added pain and suffering to her life. But he couldn't be her punching bag because he could leave her in a second, because they didn't _live together_.

He could feel himself wearing away, felt his imminent collapse coming. But damn it all if he couldn't just stop it, because she was _Casey_ and he _loved her_ more than he had ever _loved_ anything. So no matter how hard she hit, he would always come crawling back, like a beaten little puppy, to just be in her presence, to feel the glow that comes with being in the midst of someone you _love. _

Derek Venturi was Casey McDonald's punching bag.

And he fucking _loved it._

**Soooooooooooooo...**

**Yeah. Bad. Sorry about the weird ending. It was like "she hates him and he's cool with that, really, but did I mention he's in love with her? The End!" Weird. I just kinda wrote this in a little fit of inspiration. I know Derek is just as mean as Casey in the show, but doesn't it seem like they take out their anger on each other sometimes? Right? (Cowers in fear) I'm nervous, can you tell? **

**I'm kinda hoping someone will review, anyone really. Just tell me what you think. If you liked it, tell me, and if not tell me that too. Then I'll know to work on my writing before trying this out again. **


End file.
